One Week Later
"Miss Hooper?"
Molly turned to see Dr. Watson standing, somewhat awkwardly, in the kitchen doorway. "Yes, Doctor? Can I help you with something?" she asked, already laying down her paring knife and the potato she'd been holding. Their housemaid was ill, and Molly had volunteered to assist with her normal duties until she was well enough to return to work. Their housekeeper, Mrs. Haversham, had gratefully accepted and put Molly to work in the kitchen while the cook was at the market making the day's purchases.
In spite of this being her least favorite chore, Molly managed a cheerful smile for her father's new partner as she waited for his response.
"Actually, yes, you can," he replied, still looking somewhat uncomfortable. She wondered what was wrong, if he and Sherlock had had a falling out of some kind and Dr. Watson was seeking her advice on the matter. "I need to return to London; I've received word that my...sister is ill. Sher – that is, Mr. Holmes suggested that you might accompany us in order to assist me if necessary, as your nursing skills are quite superior. As I've already observed for myself," he hastened to add, his face flushing as if embarrassed by approaching her in this manner.
And well he might be, Molly found herself thinking with some exasperation; Sherlock didn't always think things through before he spoke. "Although I appreciate your kind words regarding my modest skills, you know I have responsibilities here..."
"Of course," Dr. Watson replied, nodding his head rapidly, as if he not only understood what she was trying to say but agreed with her. "However, Sher – Mr. Holmes asked me to assure you that the visit will only be for the day. He will be accompanying us into Town as he has business there, and will ensure that the carriage is available for your use when you are ready to return." He gave an apologetic smile before adding: "You know how insistent Mr. Holmes can be, Miss Hooper. And he feels very strongly that you are the best person to help my Mary – that is, my sister. Mary. Mary Watson."
Molly felt an itch of suspicion between her shoulderblades; first Dr. Watson had hesitated before using the word 'sister' for the first time, and now he seemed to have equal difficulty in referring to this 'Mary' person in such a manner. It was obvious that Sherlock had put his friend up to this odd request, but to what purpose? A frisson of excitement made its way up her spine; was this Sherlock's way of attempting to gain her clandestine assistance in one of his experiments, to bring her to work by his side as they had when they were younger?
Either way – whether Dr. Watson's sister was actually ill or whether there was some hidden motive behind the request – she felt a thrill at this sudden alteration to the normal routine of her daily life. "Let me speak to Papa," she found herself saying, even as she began untying her apron and preparing to fold it neatly away. "Our housemaid is ill, it's possible he might not be able to spare me..."
"Oh, Sherlock mentioned that," Dr. Watson replied, his tense pose relaxing a bit as she made herself more agreeable to his request. "He said if you were able to come away for the day that his mother would send someone to assist your father in your absence. And a chaperone has been arranged for as well," he added, although there was a trace of discomfort in his tone as he gave her that information, which Molly made no mention of even as she noted it as a peculiarity to be taken out and examined later when she had the time.
All she did for now was murmur her excuses and return to her small bedroom in order to change into clothing more appropriate for her first visit to London, even under such peculiar circumstances. It would certainly not do for her to arrive wearing the well-worn gown she'd donned for a day spent in working in the kitchens and tending to her father's patients!
As she hurriedly rearranged her clothing, she found herself fighting down a growing sense of excitement. London was only an hour's carriage ride away, and yet this would be her first visit to the busy city of which she'd heard so much. However, her excitement was tempered by the circumstances of the visit – and not solely because of Dr. Watson's supposedly ill sister. No, something more was happening here, she felt it in her bones.
The timing alone would be enough to alert her that there was something unspoken occurring, let alone Dr. Watson's unusually nervous demeanor. Mr. Mycroft Holmes and his family had returned to their own summer residence after their fortnight's visit ended yesterday morning, the two boys noisy and boisterous, Mrs. Holmes silent and reserved as always, as was her husband. The elder Mr. Holmes had vacated the premises a day earlier, on his way to tour several of the family's other estates for an extended period of time as he always did after his grandchildren had returned home. Lady Iris had been quite busy with social engagements in the absence of her husband and their eldest son and his family.
During the week leading up to his family's dispersal, Sherlock – Mr. Holmes, Molly reminded herself crossly, although she still felt a faint thrill at how he'd asked her to call him by his first name during their private conversations – had been very attentive to her, seeking her company out whenever he left the confines of the manor house. More attentive than Dr. Watson, whom her father must have spoken to regarding Molly's future by now, which had not gone unnoticed by her, although she kept her suspicions in that regard strictly to herself.
She'd attributed the youngest Mr. Holmes' attentions to her to boredom and perhaps a simple desire for companionship while his friend was busy settling into the new life upon which he'd embarked. However, now she believed he'd had some other motive – what, she had yet to ferret out, but perhaps this trip to London would provide her the answers she'd been seeking.
She paused in the midst of rewinding her hair into a tidy bun on the back of her head to wonder if it was in some manner related to Dr. Watson's future relationship to her, and she to he; Sherlock had asked, rather diffidently, what she thought of his friend during one or two of their informal chats when Molly worked in the herb garden or was cleaning up her father's offices at the end of the day. The girlish part of her had thrilled to the questions, hoping they indicated his own interest in her, only to be thoroughly quashed by her more practical self's assertion that he was asking on behalf of the potential suitor rather than for himself.
Although Sherlock was certainly capable of initiating an elaborate ruse to bring her to London for some other purpose than the one stated, however, she refused to believe Dr. Watson capable of such subterfuge. No, she'd never met a more open, honest, guileless man as John Watson; if he wished to properly woo her, he would never begin in so devious a manner. So if there was, in fact, no ill sister for her and Dr. Watson to tend to, that girlish part of her whispered, then perhaps it was Sherlock who wished to bring her away for some nefarious purpose…
"Oh, stop it, Molly Hooper," she scolded herself with a shake of her head. "You're letting your imagination run away with you again. You're building up a romance out of a few simple courtesies. Besides," she reasoned as she finished fastening her gown, "Sherlock is too far above you for you to even pretend that such a union could be anything more than temporary."
With a sudden rush of excitement, she wondered if she could ever dare to allow herself a temporary dalliance with a man. To be so wanton as to take a lover – yes, women did it all the time, no matter how the matter was hushed up by their scandalized families, but could she be such a bold spirit?
The question lingered in her mind, unanswered and very possibly unanswerable, as she concluded her preparations. Papa's permission for the journey had been sought and received, the chaperone – whoever she was, a servant from London, was all she'd been told – was waiting, and Molly was finally ready to join Dr. Watson and Sherlock (she'd thoroughly given up on thinking of him any other way by now, although she was firm in her insistence on referring to him properly when speaking to him).
Whatever the day brought, Molly was determined to take what pleasure from it she could, to mark the occasion of her first visit to London in the company of the man who would undoubtedly one day be her husband.
oOo
"John, you must give me your solemn vow that you won't speak a word of my intentions to Molly, but leave it to me to do so," Sherlock said, making his words and expression as serious as he could manage.
The two men awaited the arrival of Molly on the front steps of the manor house, while Sherlock's hand-picked driver and 'chaperone' loitered near the carriage, both shooting him disgruntled looks whenever they thought he wouldn't see them.
See them, however, he did, and allowed them their petty annoyance, as it would be all the satisfaction they would gain from their temporary sojourn into his employment. After this Miss Sally Donovan, only daughter of a well-to-do American family recently moved to London, and Mr. Phillip Anderson, her married neighbor and lover, would part ways with him, their debt to him for his discretion in the matter of a blackmailing servant satisfied.
He spoke of none of this to John; the less his friend knew of his arrangement with Miss Donovan and Mr. Anderson, the better. Instead, he continued to press his restated request for John's continued discretion in this matter. "As I promised, I will do nothing against Miss Hooper's will; I only wish to ascertain her willingness to...that is to say, her interest..."
"You wish to know if she is still as infatuated with you as you believe her to be," John interrupted him with a smug grin.
Sherlock gritted his teeth, held back on the insult that came so readily to mind, and simply nodded. "If you must put it that way, then yes. I do."
What he didn't say was that he knew very well how Molly Hooper felt about him – and that her so-called 'infatuation' was, in fact, something she would no doubt characterize as a deep and abiding love. He'd tried to tell John that in their earlier discussion, but apparently the other man either doubted Sherlock's assessment of her feelings, or believed his friend was exaggerating them for his own purposes.
No, he knew exactly how Molly felt for him; she'd demonstrated it in a thousand ways over the past several years, and he marveled that it had taken him this long to understand the depths of her feelings. She'd not flinched when he was sent down from Oxford for drug use and general unruliness, only offered her quiet support and the gentle regard which he'd become used to receiving from her during his turbulent adolescence. Although both of them might have wished otherwise, their erratic and clandestine (outside of their music lessons, which had become entirely bearable once they were permitted to practice together), were entirely innocent. Not even a stolen kiss had happened between them in spite of her mother's fears.
The irony of the fact that he was now contemplating doing to Molly exactly what her mother had fretted over when he was still a youth was not lost on him. However, he trusted that that good woman would approve the overall goal for her daughter; what mother, he reasoned, wouldn't want to see her only child not only settled – wed and with child – but to someone she felt a deep and abiding affection for? And by doing so, improve her social standing as well?
It was simply common sense, he had insisted to himself as he arranged for a driver and chaperone – a pair of blasted nuisances since he could drive the carriage himself and neither he nor John would be so foolish as to commit any improprieties during the journey, even if they were so minded! His own intentions after their arrival were hardly improper, he reasoned, since the actions he contemplated were fully meant to resolve themselves in matrimony, with the full consent of both parties involved. In spite of John's stated reservations, Sherlock was completely confident of Molly's cooperation in his plans.
The slight flutter of anticipation in his stomach at the sight of Molly Hooper coming towards them had nothing to do with her, he told himself, and everything to do with the culmination of those plans.
"Promise, John!" he hissed to his friend, barely moving his lips as he continued to watch Molly picking her careful way along the graveled path that lead to the pair awaiting her in front of the manor house.
He heard John sigh. Heavily. "Very well, Sherlock, I give my word not to speak of your intentions toward Miss Hooper to her or to anyone else – other than my wife," he added, standing firm when Sherlock turned to glower at him. "I keep no secrets from Mary, Sherlock, a fact which you should take to heart if you actually achieve what you desire from all this dissembling and subterfuge."
Sherlock started to shake his head, paused to gauge John's determination, then nodded. "Very well," he agreed curtly. "Tell your wife anything you choose, as long as she, too, agrees not to speak of this to anyone other than yourself. Ah, Molly!" he added, dipping his head courteously and plastering a welcoming smile on his face. "How good of you to join us! Your first trip to London, is it not?"
She gave a shy smile and a nod, the movement exaggerated by her oversized bonnet. She wore a warm shawl over her shoulders and her best frock, the pink one she only took out for Sunday services or other such important occasions. "I look forward to it a great deal, Mr. Holmes, in spite of the sad circumstances that lead us here."
She tilted her head toward John, who belatedly recalled his supposedly ill sister and stammered out something about appreciating Molly's willingness to assist him. Sherlock restrained himself from rolling his eyes, but only just; honestly, John had been forced to dissemble in a good cause on more than one occasion in the past, why was it so difficult for him to do so now? Ridiculous, the value society placed on proprieties, especially considering the sheer number of those who discreetly – or not so discreetly – went about undermining the very values they espoused to admire!
He dismissed such trivia as he focused on the woman standing in front of him. If he were inclined toward uttering such obvious banalities, he would admit that she looked quite pleasing in her soft pink gown and matching bonnet. Her cheeks were pink as well, although whether from the effort of walking from the cottage she shared with her father or from the excitement that clearly put a sparkle in her brown eyes, he was uncertain. Perhaps it was a combination of both, he decided, then put forth his arm for her to take.
John, however, was there before him, tipping his hat to Molly, murmuring a compliment that brought a definite blush to her cheek and caused her to lower her eyes modestly as she accepted his arm, leaving Sherlock to trail behind the two as they made their way to the waiting carriage. He schooled his expression to one of pleasant neutrality even as he wished he could vent his feelings at being supplanted by his supposed best friend in a glare at said friend's back. However, it wouldn't do for Molly to turn and possibly catch him demonstrating his discontent – especially since he could fathom no good reason to feel so annoyed with John. After all, the man was supposedly here not only to join Dr. Hooper in his medical practice, but also to woo Molly.
The fact that John was happily, nay, blissfully, married did little to calm the sudden churning in Sherlock's stomach at the thought of Molly engaged in such a state with another man. Any other man; surely no one would be able to ensure her future happiness as well as he could.
Such unhappy thoughts carried him the short distance to the carriage. Molly seemed a bit taken aback at the sight of the two strangers, although Sherlock found it commendable that she only stared for a moment at Miss Donovan's dark skin. John was making the introductions, thankfully not stumbling over the story that had been agreed upon. "Miss Donovan is my sister's maid, and Anderson kindly drove her here so you would have a suitable escort on your first visit to Town."
"That was very kind of you both, to go out of your way for us," Molly replied with a warm smile for both newcomers. Sherlock watched critically but was pleasantly surprised when his coerced assistants seemed genuinely friendly toward Molly.
"I do wonder that Smith didn't insist on driving us," was her only comment as Sherlock handed her up to John, who had already entered the carriage. "He is very fond of Town, as I recall."
Then she gave Sherlock a sidelong glance that another man might have found difficult to read, but plainly told him she knew he was up to something. However, he thought smugly as he seated himself across from her and Donovan with his back to Anderson, he very much doubted that she would be able to ascertain what, exactly, that might be! "Smith injured his ankle," he explained blandly. "And several of mother's housemaids are nursing colds, leaving her rather short-handed and unable to offer a chaperone of local origin, as it were. I do hope this doesn't inconvenience you."
Molly gave him a polite smile. "Not at all, Mr. Holmes, although I wonder that Papa could spare me with so many ailments afflicting the estate!" Then she turned deliberately to face Miss Donovan with a much more genuine smile. "However, I must admit that I am quite excited to be able to hear Miss Donovan's perspective on living in London; it must be quite different than out here in the country!"
After that, Sherlock was hard-pressed to enter so much as a single word into the conversation that began between the two women. However, when it became apparent that they were not deliberately attempting to prevent him or John from joining in the conversation, but had instead found several points of commonality between them despite their disparate origins, he elected to remain silent. He had nothing against Miss Donovan in general, simply in her choice of romantic partner, and was not displeased that she and Molly had immediately struck up a rapport, if only because it might make the tedious journey to London pass more quickly. He much preferred to ride on his own to taking a carriage, especially when the intent was not to stay longer than a single night.
It wasn't until they were a good half-mile past the nearest village that Molly turned to him during a lull in the conversation to ask: "Mr. Holmes, I nearly forgot; will Mr. Anderson and Miss Donovan be returning with me this evening? If so, I do hope that you informed your mother so that appropriate accommodations could be arranged!"
He nodded, having expected such a question. "Of course, pray don't worry yourself about it." He smiled, restraining himself so that it would not turn into a self-satisfied smirk as he added: "All necessary arrangements for the evening have been made."
Donovan gave him a sharp look, which he returned with a bland smile. She gave a slight huff that Molly seemed oblivious to, then returned her attention to her seat-mate as the two women resumed their interrupted conversation. They chatted about a variety of subjects, most of which Sherlock quickly found boring, and he soon settled into a light doze for the remainder of the hour-long journey.
As soon as they entered the outskirts of London, however, he instantly returned to his habitual alert demeanor, as did John, although the good doctors was tinged with a trace of unease. That was no doubt due to the fact that his duplicity was about to be revealed to Molly, but Sherlock couldn't find it in him to be concerned about John at the moment. As soon as they reached the agreed-upon location on the outskirts of a small park located within walking distance of Donovan and Anderson's respective homes, the carriage was brought to a halt and Anderson jumped down from his seat.
Molly watched with an expression of bemusement as her seat-mate made as if to join the driver, and Sherlock felt himself tensing in anticipation of her reaction to the revelation that she'd been deceived as to their identities. She said nothing, however, as the two made their farewells, merely remaining in the carriage with John while Sherlock mumbled a vague excuse and joined the other two a short distance away.
"Right, that does it, we've discharged out debt to you, Mr. Holmes," Anderson growled while Sally moved to join her sister, waiting for her nearby as previously arranged. She'd been the one to aid Sally and Anderson when they'd first become enamored of one another, and had well proven her ability to keep her sister's activities a secret from their parents and any other prying souls. Sherlock could admire her loyalty even as he disapproved of her willingness to look the other way on her sister's behalf in so distasteful an affair with a married man. "I trust this means you will keep your word and allow Miss Donovan and I to continue to live our lives as we see fit.
Sherlock barely acknowledged Anderson's irritating whine, too busy with his own thoughts to do more than wave his agreement before turning away from the other man. He was well aware of what others might term the hypocrisy of his thoughts, since he aspired to an illicit affair of his own. His actions with Molly, however, would not harm anyone, not even the lady herself if she agreed to them, whereas Anderson and Donovan knew full well that the man's wife would be inconsolable if she were to learn that her beloved husband was carrying on in such a manner with a woman she considered something of a social peer if not exactly a friend.
Still, that was their mess to sort out, not his, and as they vanished in opposite directions, having received Sherlock's reassurances that they had, indeed, paid their debt and need never see nor speak to him ever again, he removed them completely from his mind.
He returned to the carriage, where Molly and John were waiting. Clearly John had attempted to engage her in conversation during Sherlock's brief time away, but equally clearly she'd refused to respond. Judging by the rising color in her cheeks, she was well aware that something was amiss and none too pleased at the discovery.
"Mr. Holmes," she said, as soon as he was in earshot, rising to her feet and glaring down at him from (for the first time in their acquaintance) her superior height. "I would very much appreciate an explanation as to what exactly is going on! And pray, sir, do not," she added, shooting John a severe glance before returning her gaze to meet Sherlock's, "attempt to deceive me further regarding Dr. Watson's 'ill sister'! I've already determined for myself that no such person exists, and I demand to know why you've brought me here under false pretences!"
A/N: Thank you to everyone reading this and especially those of you leaving reviews, they are all treasured beyond belief.